


open up, late bloomer

by soaringrachel



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Kissing, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Summer, Threesome, Weather, different types of sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-20 00:46:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11325165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soaringrachel/pseuds/soaringrachel
Summary: It's hot in Paris.





	open up, late bloomer

It's hot in Paris.

Natasha peels off her clothes as soon as they're back in the hotel room. Steve's own shirt feels melted into his chest, but he's too busy sinking into the bed to do anything about it. The whole useless day of undercover work feels like a thousand years and it's only four in the afternoon, the light still golden through the fourth-floor windows.

"Mm," Natasha says, dropping onto her back next to him. She's wearing a cobalt blue bra and some kind of red shorts. Steve stretches, falls back down with his cheek pressed into the cool sheets. "What's next," he asks Natasha.

"We don't move for six hours," she says, wriggling to show she means it.

"Mm," Steve agrees. There's a comfortable silence for a few moments. Steve thinks about prying his face up from the sheet but not hard enough to actually make it happen. "Last time I was in Paris," he says, "it was snowing." Natasha hums again. "Do you think if we called Thor he'd make it snow?"

"I think," Natasha says, "Thor would break Paris. It's very delicate."

"Yes," Steve says, "that's why I fucking hate Paris."

"Huh," Natasha says. Her breasts rise and fall as she breathes. It's very pretty.

"You have excellent breath control," Steve says. "Is that a come-on?" Natasha asks.

Steve grins, pleased. "Not on purpose."

"Hm," Natasha says, and then her face is very close to his, hazel eyes blinking. She slides a thumb up across his bottom lip and his mouth opens, by reflex. She laughs, delighted, but the look in her eyes is quite serious--she means a lot by this, then. Steve lets his lips close around her thumb, his hand drift up to her hip, and she slowly leans in.

There's a very loud cough.

Natasha laughs again. "Check the closet for monsters, would you?"

"Check it yourself," Steve grumbles, but he's grinning as he drags himself up and opens the door to the tiny closet.

"Thank fuck," Bucky says, "that thing is the size of a goddamn coffin. Were you planning to do a basic check at any point, or?"

"I figured you had it in hand," Natasha says, undoing her bra. "Did you interrupt for a reason, or just feeling left out?"

Bucky makes an awful noise. Natasha tosses him the bra. Steve sits down on the bed rather hard.

Natasha is up on her knees now, breasts pink and swaying. Bucky holds the cobalt lace, dressed in his usual gear--he must be dying but except for the sweat drenching his ponytail he doesn't let on. Steve isn't sure where to look between them.

"Carry on," Bucky says, sitting on the chair in the corner and undoing his boots. "Certainly don't mind me."

"Come back then," Natasha whines, playing the spoiled child, and Steve comes, mainly because there's hardly another option. He falls onto the pillows--too many, goddamn Paris hotel--and Natasha smiles, swings a leg over to straddle him.

"Very pretty," Bucky drawls from the corner and Natasha shoots him the finger.

"Come and do better if you like," Steve says, daring, and Bucky makes a show of rolling his shoulders and stripping off his socks.

"Fine here, thanks," he says, the picture of relaxation, but Steve can see the flush in his cheeks. Steve's own face is red and not just from the heat, his mouth falling open--he wishes Natasha'd put her thumb back or better yet her tongue. She rolls a bit over his dick instead, and Steve grumbles with six kinds of frustration, beginning to wish he'd taken his clothes off when they'd gotten back after all.

"Shut up," Natasha says fondly, and leans down to kiss him.

It's fantastic, worth the wait. Natasha's a hell of a kisser of course and it's exactly what Steve wants, more than a cold shower or a lemonade. Natasha tastes of salt and her hips are sweaty under his hands; her legs burn where they press against his through his trousers. Steve could kiss her all day, happily would, possibly does; he's not exactly keeping track of the time. He can smell that ever-present Paris cigarette smoke on her hair, the cheap body spray she had on to get in character undercover. 

There's a slapping sound and Natasha lifts her head up, away from him--Bucky. Steve makes a face at him; how dare he, honestly.

"Shove off," Bucky says to Natasha, "I wanna suck his dick." Steve revises his censure.

Natasha rolls her eyes at Bucky and slides down onto the bed, reaching in to undo Steve's pants. Bucky rolls them down and off, getting at Steve's dick with his right hand and his mouth.

Steve whines, he can't help it, and Natasha swallows it, kissing him again. She bites into his lip just as Bucky goes down properly, and Steve loses it for a moment; when he comes back into himself he gets a hand in Bucky's hair, tears out the ponytail. It's nasty and stiff with sweat and dirt and somehow that's hot as hell. Bucky shakes his head a bit like he can tell what Steve's thinking and Steve's pretty close to done for. Natasha bites his lip again and he makes a stuttered noise, pushes up his hips toward Bucky.

Natasha is stroking his hair now, soft and even, and Bucky keeps fucking going, and he's all-out groaning into Natasha's mouth, still wearing his goddamn t-shirt as he swallows hard and comes, Bucky's metal hand pressing hard into his hip.

He breathes hard for a moment, head back on the pillow, eyes closed. He sits up to strip off the frankly disgusting t-shirt and he's nearly there again just from the sight of Bucky and Natasha kissing, his right hand practically spanning her waist and the other one standing out against her hair. They must both taste of him, he realizes, as sharp as the fading bruises Bucky left on him. Bucky pulls away from her, throws Steve a wink, the asshole. His right hand slips from her waist below those tiny red shorts and Steve sees her gasp--Bucky's metal hand tightens in her hair.

Natasha is kneeling up on the bed again, Bucky standing beside her, her breasts pressed into his tank top; the fabric must feel amazing. She breathes out, long and shaking, and Steve comes up behind her and presses a kiss into her neck. Bucky is still at work with both hands; she stands and steps out of the shorts, Steve chasing after her with his mouth. Bucky is still fully dressed, black jeans and tank top standing out against Steve and Natasha's naked flush. Bucky is still touching Natasha and she shudders and Steve has to get on his knees, get closer; Bucky sees what he's doing and gracefully switches places with him, holds Natasha's sweat-soaked hair off her neck while Steve finds himself between her legs, lays her back on the bed while Steve tastes the salt of his own upper lip along with hers.

Bucky and Natasha are kissing again, hair twisting together, and Steve is on a fucking knife edge, on his knees at the end of the bed, taking Natasha to an orgasm that she breathes into Bucky's mouth.

He comes up and kisses Bucky at fucking last, then, because he knows Bucky will like the taste of Natasha on his mouth. Bucky does, Bucky jumps into the kiss and lets Steve suck on his tongue until Natasha breaks in, whispers something to Bucky that Steve doesn't catch.

He finds out what it is in a moment, Bucky petting the back of his neck with his warm right hand while Natasha presses one finger neat and tight inside him, then two. He makes a sound and Bucky lifts his metal hand, slips two fingers in his mouth--they're still cool even after all this, and Natasha's hand is so hot, and he's overwhelmed, he might die of this.

Natasha is moving her fingers now, and Bucky's are still, a lifeline. Nevertheless he scrapes his fingers across Bucky's jeans and Bucky laughs a little. He pulls his fingers slowly out of Steve's mouth--Steve whines, but then stops because Bucky is pulling off his tank top, a quick efficient movement, and then undoing his jeans. Steve whines again, threadier and longer, and Natasha drags out the fingers she had in him and kisses it out of him, lazy and sweet.

She's still kissing Steve when Bucky pushes into him, blunt and goddamn beautiful. She bites his lip for him, which is helpful. Bucky is precise but uncareful about fucking him, the way he is about everything, Natasha's sharpness a perfect counterpoint. Steve is moments from coming again, slamming his fist into the hotel sheets; Natasha's kisses have grown messier as she touches herself, breathing hard into his mouth.

Bucky comes first, Natasha a close second; it's watching them that sends Steve over the edge, Bucky's eyes wild, Natasha's shut tight. Steve bites down on his own hand as he comes, Natasha still vaguely licking at the side of his mouth. He crashes down hard, head back into those goddamn pillows.

Bucky falls down beside them; the double bed isn't really enough for two supersoldiers and a third woman who likes her space, especially given they're all covered in sweat, and who knows what else, and mainly sweat. Natasha pushes at them, but she doesn't really mean it; it's too late for personal space, certainly. Bucky on his side seems already halfway to a decent field sleep; Steve's own eyes are drifting closed.

It's fucking hot in Paris.

**Author's Note:**

> title from jenny lewis's "late bloomer," the best song i know about a threesome in paris.


End file.
